


Remember me?

by Little_Winchester



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Dean Winchester, And the limits of biology and psychology and neurology, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Dean really likes Sam's tattoos, M/M, Sam has tattoos, Sam somehow cures Dean of his amnesia with awesome sex, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, Tattoos, Top Dean, Top Sam, fuck the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Winchester/pseuds/Little_Winchester
Summary: Dean's memories are a little (a lot) fuzzy. But... He doesn't really mind.That is, until a handsome stranger covered in tattoos shows up and refuses to give Dean his name, and Dean can't shake the feeling that he knows him.





	Remember me?

It started out in a bar.

A bar, of all fucking places. Could this _get_ more cliché?

Apparently, it could. There was a man, hunched over a glinting bottle. His fingers scratched at the label, his nails ruddy and cut short. He was tall, and dark, the kind of man that both drew you to him and made you want to stand back, lest his shadows and ghosts rear and sink their claws into you.

Typically, in the movies, this was the guy who swooped in and turned a good girl's life upside down, with a chrome motorcycle and a sketchy background and calloused hands which Dean could already picture being wrapped around him.

Yep, Dean was officially drooling over the hulking mass of a man who was sulking in the corner.

"So," he began cheerfully, his bright smile slightly out of place at the seedy establishment. "D'you come here often?" He asked as he slid into stool next to Tall Dark & Handsome. It protested weakly under his weight, but Dean simply spun around on it and ignored the squeaking.

The man laughed. "No," he said eventually. "And neither do you."

Dean blinked. "Well, you're right about that," he said, his mood not dampening in the slightest. "You have a name, know-it-all?" He teased.

"Yeah."

"You gonna tell me what it is?"

"No," the stranger replied, fingers drumming against the wooden bar. Little flecks of paint drifted off at his tapping, before settling into cracks or the sticky remains of a drink spilled long ago. "Not today, at least."

"I gotta admit, that's kinda disheartening," Dean chuckled, careful to keep his gaze away from the other man and firmly planted on the few drops of mead left at the bottom of his glass.

The stranger shrugged. "Ask something else, then."

Dean lost the battle with himself and he sneaked a look at the black coiling around the tall man's wrists, barely visible under the frayed cuffs of his coat. "Can I ask about this?" He asked, tentatively tracing a finger along the inked marks on the stranger's exposed skin.

The stranger, now dubbed Mr Mysterious by Dean, shook back the sleeve to fully display the image. It was a fire, it's flames swooping and climbing up his forearm so realistically Dean could almost hear it crackling. There were barely-there hints of saffron, of orange, of scarlet, all painted expertly so as to give the illusion of an actual fire whenever the man twisted his wrist.

"Fire burns. Fire destroys." The stranger's voice sounded strangely flat, as if his mind were completely disconnected from his body. "It also gives you a way to start anew."

"That kinda sounded like you were reading from a textbook," Dean noted.

The stranger didn't deign his comment worthy of an answer.

Dean huffed and let his glass clunk down on the table, some of the amber liquid spilling out. "Look, I don't know about you, but I came here to get laid. I saw a hot guy in the corner and said, hey, why the fuck not? And then you kept on shooting me down, which was vaguely embarrassing, but I can't seem to take a hint. Wanna come over to my motel room?"

The other man blinked. Dean wondered if he had completely misjudged his gaydar and hit on a straight man, or been too direct. Or maybe he just wasn't interested at all...

"Sure," Mr Mysterious replied eventually. He seemed a little surprised, at both Dean's declaration and his agreement. "What the Hell. Let's go." He drew a couple of bills from his pocket and left them on a relatively clean part of the bar.

"By the way," Dean said, "My name's Dean."

The stranger smirked. "Now I know what I'll be moaning tonight."

Dean cheered internally all throughout their journey to his motel room.

Barely a second after the door was closed, Dean found himself pinned to it by large hands that felt like Heaven as they ran down his chest. The stranger's mouth was insistent along his neck, drawing bite marks and hickeys from his jaw to his collarbone. His pants disappeared soon after, and the other man led them both to the bed. Dean vaguely noticed that Mr Mysterious still had all his clothes on, which he didn't really approve of, but then there was a mouth on his cock and fingers working inside his ass and his brain deemed it a moot point. Actually, it was all a fucking moot point when the stranger withdrew. Dean shot him a betrayed look, which didn't last long on his face once the stranger pulled his dick out of his pants and rolled a condom on it. "You ready?" the other man panted, and at Dean's insistent nods, pushed in.

The man set a near-harsh pace, whispering dirty promises in Dean's ear and jacking him off in tandem when he felt himself getting close. Dean came shortly before the stranger, and they both collapsed on the bed, panting like they'd just ran a marathon.

"You okay?" The stranger asked. Dean noted, with no small degree of satisfaction, that he still sounded slightly hoarse and breathless.

"Freaking spectacular," Dean replied.

The other man laughed. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get you cleaned up."

Dean dozed for a short while, during which the stranger threw his condom in the bin and cleaned Dean's stomach off with a wet rag. Just as the stranger finished off, Dean grabbed his wrist and tapped the flames, which seemed to flicker in the half-light. "Don't the fire destroy you," he mumbled drowsily. Then, he let go.

There was a barely there brush against his lips, and then a door slamming closed.

The man was gone, and Dean fell asleep to the thought of flames dancing.

•••••

Two weeks and five bars later, Dean found Mr Mysterious again. He was talking with a gruff-looking older man whose eyes kept twitching and scanning the room, as if searching for a threat.

Dean approached the par with two beers held loosely in his hand, seeing as the older man seemed to be getting to leave.

"Take care of yourself, Winchester," the man grumbled as he slapped 'Winchester' on his back.

"You too," the so-called 'Winchester' replied.

Dean slid into the recently vacated chair, much like their first meeting. He offered a bottle to the other man, who took it with a small smile of thanks.

"So," Dean said after a long swig of beer, "Winchester, huh?"

"My surname," Winchester explained.

"Is there by any chance an actual name to go along with that?" Dean asked.

"Afraid not," Winchester replied with a teasing smile.

Dean laughed. "You really are something else, aren't you?"

"Could say the same thing about you," Winchester quipped. It was strange, Dean thought, the way they spoke as if they already knew each other, with a familiarity that surprised him and made him long for more.

"Anyway, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" Winchester asked.

"Just drifting, I guess," Dean answered, then frowned. He knew that at some point, this town would have meant something to him, but things from before a few months ago tended to be fuzzy at the edges, if not completely blank.

Apparently, amnesia was pretty common after 'severe head trauma'.

Winchester flashed him a half-grin. "That makes two of us."

After that, the conversation shot back and forth steadily, filled with little jokes and double-meanings and stories that made them both laugh until their stomachs ache and others which turned their faces somber. They talked and talked, unaware of the traitorous hands moving towards two a.m.

There was no gracious way to say it, really. They got kicked out.

They stumbled across cracked pavement, snorts and guffaws echoing in the empty streets. Dean was leading them both back to his motel room, silently hoping that Winchester would take up his offer and stay another night.

"What do you say, Winchester?" Dean threw open the door to his motel, which creaked dangerously on it's hinges, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Wanna stay the night?"

Winchester grinned back. "My pleasure," he purred, and hooked an arm around Dean's waist.

"Ah ah ah, not yet." Dean held up a finger to Winchester's lips, pushing him back slightly. "You gotta answer another question." He tapped Winchester's arm, the one where he had seen an unknown tattoo peeking out from beneath his heavy jacket. "What's this?"

Winchester sighed, but smiled too, almost fondly. "Look," he said, drawing up the sleeve. "It's the morning star, right? First star you see every night. But..." He pointed at the lines dissecting the beautiful star. solid and almost garish against the intricate detail of the star. "It lights the way. Or you can make your own path. Are we done with the sharing and caring now?" Winchester asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, definitely," Dean breathed.

Winchester fucked Dean roughly, both more than a little drunk. Dean's kisses were clumsy and Winchester's nails too sharp down Dean's back, but it felt perfect to them.

Just like last time.

And just like last time, Winchester had disappeared before the sky cleared.

•••••

"I used to do this," Dean said suddenly. He was helping Winchester dig up a grave, so that they could burn the bones of a bitter wife who was cast away one too many times, and suddenly that piece of his past came flooding back. "Before."

Dean had found Winchester completely by accident. It just so happened that he was enjoying the company of one of Amanda Fryer's soon-to-be victims, when Winchester barged in, and not second too soon. Amanda herself burst in barely a moment later, her features twisted into hatred, and Dean found himself roped into the task of getting rid of her.

She appeared just as Winchester dropped the matches in her gasoline-doused coffin, and so Dean had the pleasure ( _not_ ) of watching both Amanda's bones _and_ soul go up in flames.

"So," Dean began, because it always seemed to be him that initiated anything sexual. "Wanna come over to my room and fuck me silly?"

Winchester nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

Dean gasped theatrically. "Reasonable? Screw you, Winchester. I am _amazing_ at sex."

"Yeah? I think I might need a little reminding," Winchester teased.

"Oh, it's on," Dean declared.

They were both high off post-hunt adrenaline and the taste of each other, which led to three consecutive rounds of, as Dean put it, 'mind blowing sex'.

By the end of it, they were curled up together on the bed, Dean nuzzling into the taller man's chest."

Dean blearily opened his eyes and placed a hand on the anti possession tattoo Winchester had covering most of the left side of his chest. "You don't need to tell me what this one's for," Dean whispered. "I already know."

"Yeah," Winchester mumbled back, "You do."

Hours later, Dean woke up alone.

•••••

It only took five days for Dean to meet up again with Winchester. That had to be some sort of new record.

"We just keep on bumping into each other," Dean said with a grin.

"The universe must be conspiring," Winchester replied off-handedly.

"Wow. It's gotta be the first time the universe _hasn't_ been a little bitch."

"That was... Strangely flattering," Winchester said.

"'Course it was, have you met me? I'm a pro," Dean proclaimed.

"Yeah right, more like a man-whore," Winchester teased.

"Only for you, babe." Dean winked.

Winchester laughed. "I doubt that, but whatever. I'll take what I can get."

With that, Winchester's lips were on his and they fell into bed once more.

Hours later found them lazing around, wrapped up in blankets.

"What about these?" Dean asked, trailing his fingers over the two raven's inked on Winchester's shoulder.

"Huginn and Muninn," Winchester replied immediately. "Thought and memory, from the Nordic mythology. Two things I never want to loose."

Dean hummed, hopefully lulling Winchester to sleep as he traced the outline of the birds. Dean remained awake long after little snores had begun to fall from Winchester's mouth, which was honestly kind of adorable. "You will stay the night, damn you," Dean whispered, as if by merely uttering the words they would become true. And Dean hoped- oh God, Dean hoped.

But it was in vain. Come morning, the only trace of Winchester was a slowly cooling indent in the mattress.

•••••

A week later, in a drenched city somewhere off the winding roads of Minnesota.

"Why won't you tell me your name?" Dean panted as he palmed the curling runes on Winchester's back.

"Why won't you remember it?"

•••••

A month passed, then two. Two turned to four and four soon doubled. And then- then, Dean stumbled into an arid bar in a forgotten town somewhere near Vegas and right into Winchester's arms.

"I've missed you," Dean said, nothing on his face but cut-edge honesty.

"I missed you too," Winchester whispered.

It felt natural, easy, to fall into bed with Winchester. But this time, it was different.

It was Winchester who lied down on the bed and moaned as Dean fingered him open.

It was Winchester who trembled under Dean's hot mouth.

It was Winchester who arched his back as Dean pounded into him.

It was Winchester who was vulnerable, this time.

But it wasn't Winchester who orgasmed through the rough stroking.

No, no, it was _Sam_ , who finally came undone as Dean placed his hand over the tattooed silhouette of a handprint on his hip. _Dean's_ handprint.

"Sam," Dean gasped, like it was a prayer.

"Dean?" Sam asked, as if he were his salvation.

"Yeah," Dean panted through the influx of memories. He kissed Sam, slowly, sweetly. "Yeah."

"I love you," Sam whispered, and it tickled Dean's ear like a secret.

"I know."

"... Did you just Han Solo me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Psst. Kudos and comments make me very happy :P.  
> If you saw a mistake, please let me know!


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